Three Days, Two Sons, One God
by TheLastSkyKeeper
Summary: It is the aftermath of the passover, the Hebrews have escaped Egypt, Moses is leading them to the Promised Land, yet the Egyptians still feel the sting of the tenth plague. One lowly Egyptian woman recounts the past few days, what she saw, what she heard, what she lost...


"… _And all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of the Pharaoh who sits on his throne, even to the firstborn of the slave girl who is behind the millstones; all the firstborn of the cattle as well… There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt-worse than there has ever been or ever will be again…" - Exodus 11_

They say that if you lose two sons in three days, you have been cursed by the gods. But now I am told that my children's deaths were brought by a strange god, one who I have never heard of, never worshipped, never cursed. A god who found fault with my master's master and used his power to smite down his people. A god who hears the cries of grieving mothers and feels that justice has been served.

I know of no such god, all I know is that in three days my life was destroyed and his name is the only survivor in the ashes.

Tzvi was my elder son, my first-born, a twelve-year-old boy with a beaming smile, mischievous shining eyes, and laughter that made it seem as though Rah had risen even in the dead of night.

Jac was my younger son, a tall child of ten summers. His owl brown eyes made up for his quietness, and his light frame was never still, endlessly bounding after his brother. The two of them were just that, two. No more, no less, two brothers that lived as one.

These two were my entire life, my entire world. My daughters had not survived infancy and my husband had long come to favor his more fertile wife. Our household was small, folded into the heart of Egypt, far from pharaoh or the Hebrews, or what went on between them. I woke in the mornings, went to the river and drew water in jug. Then I'd watch my sons, helping my master when I could. Simple, consistent, my whole world.

Then came the plagues. The animals died, the food rotted, my children wailed as their small bodies were racked with illness and hunger. There was death and pain and the only word I heard whispered in blame was the name of the god of the Hebrews.

"He is angry. He is angry for His people are enslaved…"

This I did not believe. Why, if this god was so angered at the mistreatment of his people, had the gods of Egypt not found a way to free their people, the Egyptians like myself condemned to service of a mere man, my children chained to the same life forever.

And yet our suffering only grew, hail and fire broke the stones my husband had built to shelter us, water bittered into blood, darkness smothered every speck of light left in the land. And then the tenth plague came and I wished with all my soul that we could have had the other nine back again, over and over to only prevent the tenth.

Tzvi, Tzvi… What right does this strange god have to wipe the smile off your face, to tear your body from your heart, to rip your life from the earth? What right has he to kill something so beautiful, so young? This I do not know. These things I shall never know. All I know is that you are gone and His name remains… haunting my mind, tormenting my home. I thought it was over when the Hebrews left the land, chased out by a horrified people who would never be the same. A people who woke one morning to find that for their master's sins, their children had been slaughtered in their beds, murdered in the houses we had built them, dead before our eyes.

 _Could he have not killed us instead?_

And of all the things our Pharaoh could have done, he decided to run after them and drive them back. And he took Jac with him among the other Egyptian boys, took them to drive back the Hebrews.

Now I hear the Hebrew god's name once more. He brought down the rising waters of the Red Sea upon my son and the others. He brought them down and it is written that not one escaped his wrath.

I wake now in the mornings, go to the river and draw water in a jug. Then I remember my sons and help my master when I must. Simple, consistent, my whole world. Empty, broken, my whole world…

They say that losing two sons in three days means you have been cursed by the gods. But I no longer believe in gods. I believe in no master. I believe only in my sons, my beloved and beautiful sons, whom I shall never see again…


End file.
